Posts Tagged ‘Time’
Dec
Hard To Swallow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We take the caddy everywhere; it is a modern Grand Tour.
During our European escapades my brother was the fourth cavalier, so we are retracing our trip of a lifetime: Oslo, Paris and Tuscany; Ljubljana and Granada.
Back in England, my wife welcomes us before we leave for the final destination: Bibury, the most beautiful village in England.
She makes steaming mugs of tea and we toast my friend, my brother, tears welling in our eyes. Then it is time to move, and I pick up the caddy.
It’s empty. He’s gone.
My wife is ashen-faced.
And we turn green.
From Guest Contributor Hugh Cartwright
Dec
Crossing The Threshold
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The greatroom was full to bursting, ghosts everywhere: playing charades, talking, resting, dancing, darting between clusters of spirits engaged in various means of whiling away time.
A newly-born ghost appeared at the doorway and paused at the chaos. The chaos paused in return, all eyes upon the newcomer.
“Come in, Dearie, and welcome,” Eve, the oldest of them all, beckoned.
The new arrival apprehensively crossed the threshold. The others returned to their various activities.
Eve helped the new ghost settle in. Did she have any questions?
Just one, the young ghost said, voice wavering: “When do they notice you’re gone?”
From Guest Contributor Melissa Ridley Elmes
Melissa is a Virginia native currently living in Missouri in an apartment that delightfully approximates a hobbit-hole. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Reunion; The Dallas Review Online, Eye to the Telescope, Star*Line, Gyroscope, In Parentheses, and other print and web venues, and her first book of poetry, Arthurian Things: A Collection of Poems, was published by Dark Myth Publications in 2020. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @MRidleyElmes
Nov
Why Can’t I Be Robert Smith?
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
It’s 10:15 Saturday night, the last day of summer. What a strange day.
I’m cold, I almost feel numb. We’re in your house in Fascination Street and I’m homesick.
All I want is to write a letter to Elise in six different ways, but now it’s Wendy time.
“Trust me,” you said. “Don’t doubt. Have faith. Let’s go to bed in the upstairs room. It will be just like heaven.”
“Its’ not you,” I replied. “This is just a short term effect.”
“So what?”
“Maybe another day.”
It took her seventeen seconds for dressing up.
The perfect girl is gone.
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé SUYS (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and hasn’t stopped yet. He usually writes them hatless and barefooted.
Sep
It’s Time To Go
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Honey, it’s time to go, Dad said. It was dark by the time they arrived home. Of course, he was right. He was always right. Had been 50 years ago, and every day of her life. It used to be frustrating, but now it was calming and reassuring. Rock solid, steady and consistent, never flashy. Feeble now, he spent most of the day in bed, save for an hour phone call every day. She cherished those calls ending with gotta go and a dial tone. His last call ended with Honey, it’s time to go. Goodbye. And he was right.
From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin
NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.
Aug
The Celebration
by thegooddoctor in Uncategorized
Where was he?
Anxious guests chattered in anticipation of what would happen next. The priest glanced at the row of individuals immediately before him. Then, at his watch.
Time passed on. The front door opened. A man rushed in.
No one turned to greet him. No talking caught his ears.
Who would’ve believed his story of being caught up in traffic when he was golfing with friends and lost track of time?
He fumbled in his dress jacket pocket, finding the wedding ring lodged in its creases.
Despite his absence as ‘best man’, he hoped his brother’s wedding went well.
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.
Jul
Manipulation
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
He was a mastermind, slowly taking over as he got deeper and deeper under my skinーconvincing me it was love the entire time. And I believed it, I believed him, because his hooks were in me so deep that I couldn’t see I was trapped. He knew what he was doing, it was all part of his plan. What he claimed was love was his way of making sure I wouldn’t leaveーeven if I wanted to. I was a toy to him; something he could keep, control, and manipulate into staying. As if I were something that could be kept.
From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott
Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.
Jul
When I Realised The Earth Wasn’t Flat, I Felt Pretty Damn Foolish
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The swarm arrived at the beginning of the week, their language that of war, and humanity the patient listeners.
Continents of flame pulsed now, flickering orange across a world recently gone dark.
Those who could, stayed and fought. Crumbling capitals and plasma-charred skeletons formed the battlefields of Earth by midweek.
Those who couldn’t (and those like myself who wouldn’t), hopped on the soonest evac shuttles to Mars.
I nudge a couple away from the window to catch the last view of a burning Earth from orbit.
The sight haunts me.
After all this time, I had guessed the shape wrong.
From Guest Contributor S.R Malone
Jun
Spending Time Alone
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I live another life between raised garden rows, meditating on what worries me the most—feeling anxious about the seedlings that I’ve upended from their plug trays, pushing them head first into the palm of my hand, where I take a moment to study their good health, before I shove them into dirt that’s expansive as it is uncertain—a space where I imagine safety is being somewhere: tomatoes belong here—eggplants over there—and, in-between—bright, ruffled marigolds, guarding the future from an army of beetles, no bigger than poppy seeds, that seemingly ingest everything when no one’s looking.
From Guest Contributor M.J.Iuppa
M.J.’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.
Apr
Rassolnik
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Minsk?” Her mouth was agape.
“You’re damn right Minsk! And maybe even the countryside while we’re at it!” His voice firm, eyes steady.
“But I want to go on vacation! What the hell is in Belarus? Why can’t we go to Vegas?” she was indignant.
“It’s quiet in Minsk…I think. It looks like we can have a nice, peaceful time for once. Also, I want to try Rassolnik” he trailed off a bit, looking away.
“What is Rassel-nek?” she shot back.
He hesitated before answering “It’s a soup they make there…it has pickles in it”.
“I hate you,” she said.
From Guest Contributor B. Frederick Foley
B. Frederick Foley is a poet, writer, and editor at www.militaryflashfiction.com. A former Navy Intelligence officer, he now spends his time living between Anchorage and Kasilof, Alaska with his wife and three children. His poetry and flash fiction have been published in several online literary journals.
Apr
Drinking
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
There was a time that drinking carried with it a thrill. The flash of acceptance by his peers, the risk of being caught.
Then it became a habit. An expectation, though not a conscious one. It was just a part of everyday life, like the friends he no longer really connects with, but finding new friends seems complicated and lonely.
Now it is no longer drinking. It is alcohol, and he needs it to not feel sick, to not hate himself.
Maybe he should quit. But that strikes him as uncomfortable. Better just to not think about it too much.